Another Man's Wife
by lady-kyo
Summary: Hermione Weasley is tired of letting her life be decided by a childhood fantasy of love; the gods themselves are going to interfer to make her find her true passions... in the form of a potions master just learning to let go himself.
1. Folly

Another Man's Wife

Another Man's Wife

disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, though I really really wish I did.

nb: This story is very, very close to something going on in my heart right now. I crave reviews, but right now… I'm writing for my own healing. Please read and review… 'cause I'm feeling the fool.

nb 2: This is slightly canon-based, slightly not. Dumbledore is still dead (for the time being, dun know if that'll stay) and Snape is not.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Chapter 1: Folly

Folly is defined as foolishness, humanity, the things we do for no reason but for the fact that we are human and we FEEL. We fight, we love, we marry, we die… all for love of folly. It is folly that makes the gods interested in us; we were the outcome of their folly, thus our folly brings it full circle. Occasionally, though, we fool ourselves to the point that the gods themselves intervene, instead of watching from afar. And, even rarer, they intervene in remorse for previous interventions…

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

The goddess Rhiannon was lounging in her chambers in Tir naNog, her chin resting in her hands when her sister, Medb strode in, chuckling madly. Rhiannon's eyebrows knitted in annoyance and she flicked green eyes at the lusty war goddess. Medb grabbed a chair and turned it backwards, flicking the tail of her leather coat back and straddling it, facing her sister.

"Aye, Rhiannon, you're such a bloody, damned fool, some matches, you are," Medb cackled. She laughed for a moment more before her eyes hardened. She was a goddess of war, but unlike Morrígan, she had a heart, hard as it was to see under her... earthy…nature. "You let them follow a foolish, childish fantasy. You fell to the whim of your own heart. You subverted the true nature of a human because you thought you knew best."

"And what would you have done? Turned up their lust, let them rut like pigs, then leave them cold and wondering why they'd ever looked upon one another naked?" Rhiannon returned angrily. She sat up on her couch, her face in her sister's. "You care nothing for love, only lust and sex!"

"And war, please don't forget war, dear sister," Medb replied, her eyes narrow. She leaned back, then stood up, her riding leathers creaking. "Fear not. I've decided to intervene. You fucked up. Time for big sis to fix it."

Rhiannon sputtered and opened her mouth to reply, but Medb disappeared, leaving behind a patch of bloody grass. Rhiannon sagged back on her couch, her head in her hands.

"Folly. Sheer folly."

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Married for ten years, Hermione Granger Weasley had plenty to show for her efforts. She had a nine year old daughter (about to turn ten, Rose had been born prematurely… at seven pounds, but Molly and Arthur were more than happy to overlook the fact for their beloved grandchild), a five year old son full of his uncles' mischief and more, a husband who loved his job as a national quidditch league keeper, and a job. Granted, she was a secretary to an undersecretary at the Ministry of Magic, but at least she was working.

Hermione hated her life.

Rose was bright, but also highly talented. She was getting into more and more trouble at her muggle school for things 'just happening around the blessed child', and Hermione was called in constantly. That is, when her cellular phone actually worked at the Ministry offices. Hugo, much like his sister, was highly talented, and unfort

unately for Hermione, his grandmothers were highly divided on that front. Jane Granger, who still worked at the dental practice with her husband, decreed Hugo could do absolutely no magic while she watched him, as she would often have to take him to the practice with her. Molly Weasley, who was anxious for even more Granger-Weasley grandchildren, not only allowed but encouraged magic over more mundane (muggle) ways of doing things. She also kept trying to keep the children overnight, so Hermione and Ron 'might get a bit of sleep'… which would have been much more comforting had she not winked quite so much every blasted time she tried it.

Ron simply loved playing quidditch. He was always on about how it was like not even having 'a job', but getting played for his hobby. He loved that he made so much Hermione didn't have to work. He was constantly talking about not knowing why Hermione felt the need to work, because he could always support her and all the children they could have. And oh, did he want those children. Even if he wasn't looking for more children, he certainly liked practicing for them. Most every night of the week, Ron was still at Hermione for a 'bit o' that'… he couldn't even use words to ask for what he wanted. Even when Hermione was riding the moon, he wanted her. Some nights she wondered if her sensuality had been ridden out of her; she hadn't felt the full force release in years, though Ron met his goal every time she gave in.

All in all, Hermione didn't just hate her life, she loathed it. She had worked hard for her degrees and certificates, mastering runes, transfiguration, charms, defense… and potions. She was most proud of her potions certificates, though she'd be loathe to admit the fact. But Ron needed to be near the wizarding side of London, Rose needed to be in a muggle school till she was of Hogwart's age, and if Hermione was going to work, she needed family to help watch Hugo. So instead of teaching at Hogwart's or a private wizarding academy, she had to look to the Ministry for work. And women, especially muggle-born women, worked their way up at the Ministry. Every time Hermione saw another woman get a promotion, though, she realized how much 'work' was done in the dark, on a horizontal surface. Occasionally, feeling a bit catty, Hermione would mutter about not even waiting to be horizontal… perhaps there was more than one reason she hadn't been promoted.

So, at thirty years old, spending yet another lonely lunch hour at her desk, Hermione was mulling all these things over in her head. Her boss, Lionel Tuttledecht (whom Hermione had heard more than one ambitious witch refer to as 'Lovely as a Turtledick'), had called in a witch for her performance review nearly 3 hours ago; approximately 2 hours, 50 minutes ago, Hermione had felt him cast a silencing charm on his office.

"Guess Matilda Baggleykets is getting her promotion," Hermione said in a mock-thoughtful voice, chewing her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She grimaced as she felt a vibration in the wall behind her. Silencing charms only worked on voices, unfortunately. She was feeling particularly catty, and she was actually glad her boss was … subscribed, for the moment. Her work was done, and she had a stack of journals with her. So long as he stayed engaged, she could do her research, keeping up in her fields. Perhaps she could even go home early.

"Scratch that," she murmured under her breath, remembering Ron was in a game and Rose had a sleep-over with one cousin or another. There really were too many Weasleys to keep track of them all. Some days, it seemed Hermione and Ron were the only ones who could shag without ending up with another mouth to feed. Jane and Nathaniel Granger had already offered to keep Hugo. Hermione loved her children dearly, but she also knew that she needed a night every once in a while with neither husband nor child to pull at her. She'd go home and enjoy some time to herself, perhaps stop and grab some dinner instead of cooking. "Mmmm… perfect."

Hermione smiled a bit, chucking the rubbish from her lunch and setting to annotating her journals. She had a few issues she'd been meaning to get back to waiting for her at the house. It would be a great night, full of knowledge and completely, blissfully, free of interruptions. A bit of a weight lifted from her shoulders and Hermione sighed softly, noticing but not registering the gentle smell of cut grass that wafted into her nostrils. She looked up, still planning her evening.

"Perhaps even a nightcap," she said absently, to herself. She shook her head and looked back to her notes.

Silent in the corner, Medb nodded solemnly. One down, one to go.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Severus Snape was finally in the position of his dreams. He'd been Headmaster of Hogwart's, but he managed to foist THAT off on Minerva McGonagall. He'd taught potions till he was blue in the face, and shockingly enough, he'd started to get the next generation of Weasleys, starting with one Victoire (daughter of Bill and that much too sensual half-Veela, Fleur), who spent nearly every waking moment flirting and throwing herself at the orphaned Teddy, please just call me Ted or Theo, Lupin.

It was happening all over again. The wizarding world was settling down, picking up where it had left off to fight Voldemort. And Severus Snape was well and truly alone, not even Dumbledore there to pester him.

He had used to love this kind of thing.

More recently, Severus had found himself lacking any sort of intelligent company. He ate his meals in near silence, whether he ate in his quarters or in the great hall. Even Trelawney had stopped trying to chat him up, his disposition was so dour. Already the rumours were raging; had he been more than a friend to Albus Dumbledore?

"Not bloody likely," he growled under his breath at Rita Skeeter's latest column on his supposed illicit affair with his mentor. His breakfast was sour in his mouth at the thought. "I'm no fucking fudgepacker. Damned witch."

Professors Sinistra and Vector raised eyebrows at his outburst and shared a look. He hissed at them and turned back to his plate, his face down and his lips pursed. He had to find himself some companion, some female companion, who could think, talk, and provide some sort of proof that he was male, and only interested in females.

"Blasted Skeeter. I need a woman, now," Severus breathed. His nostrils flared and he contemplated his options in his colleagues. Sinistra was too uptight; Vector was too literal, and besides, she couldn't brew her own contraceptive potions if her career depended on it (Severus wasn't sure if he wanted an heir, but he definitely didn't want one immediately… or with her); Minerva McGonagall was… right out; and Trelawney was. Hmph. Trelawney was Trelawney. He'd sooner come out of the closet than spend any more time than necessary with that one.

He dug into his now-cold breakfast and grimaced, just barely noting the scent of fresh-cut grass wafting over the table. He shrugged and assumed Hagrid was outside readying the grounds for the summer break.

In the shadowy corner behind the staff table, Medb smirked and turned on her heel, carefully brushing her hand over Trelawney's shoulder before disappearing, leaving behind a few blades of grass.

The mystic's eye flashed open with a strange lucidity and Severus scowled more. He could barely stand it when Sybil made up her predictions; he absolutely loathed it when she was actually giving prophecy.

"Beware the dogged ones. What one seeks another can provide. Care not for barriers, for not all is at it seems. May the rhythms guide thee in thy search for if thou dost not heed, thou shalt see none but emptiness for all eternity," she intoned, standing straight up from her seat.

Severus rolled his eyes. This was why he preferred the science of potions to the muddied waters of any and all forseeing. Trelawney sat with a heavy thud, barely caught by Flitwick before she slumped forward, just missing her pudding. Students were shocked into silence for a moment before a nervous twitter ran through them. An arched eyebrow from Minerva kept the twitter from turning to laughter, and she dismissed them with barely more than a jerk of her head.

"Severus," Minerva began, and he shook his head. She knew services he'd perform for Albus, and she expected little less. Wordlessly, he stood and strode to his offices for the correct potions and an enchanted glass orb.

It was time to log yet another useless damned prophecy.


	2. In Pursuit of Folly

Another Man's Wife

Another Man's Wife

disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, though I really really wish I did.

As usual, the first reviewer will get the next chapter dedication.

This chapter is dedicated to Hermisia Draco. Thank you for your kind reviews, all.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Chapter 2: In Pursuit of Folly

Medb lounged in her war room in Tir naNog, her fingers templed in front of her face as she contemplated what she'd set in motion. She knew the mother Goddess would rankle at her interference with her sister's long laid plans, but she was feeling sorry for the mortals, for once. Rhiannon was too often consumed with a thoughtless desire for the nostalgic kinds of love, the childhood friends, the star-crossed lovers. Hell, Medb was still feeling burned over the entire Tristan and Isolde affair; she'd hated all the strong men who'd fallen to her sword over that little thing, and they had only been non-magical humans. The destruction of a love affair gone wrong among the magical folk was terrifying, even to a goddess. Rhiannon never considered that the magical folk could destroy everything… even a god.

"Damned twit. Why did she think the new religions were so dangerous, anyway?" Medb groused to herself, shaking her head. In many ways, Rhiannon was so very young. That, and she often was just so headstrong. She shook herself. She needed to find a way to keep pushing without getting directly involved; direct involvement with mortals often resulted in losing one's immortality in mortifying ways.

A stray breeze wafted through the room and a flutter of fabric caught Medb's eye. A long ago court function she attended in the guise of a mortal princess had necessitated a gown, and inspiration struck.

"Thank you, Danu," Medb said quietly, summoning a crow. She whispered to it and it cawed, taking flight before disappearing with a flourish of tail feathers. Now all she had to do was make things happen…

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Hermione was, at thirty years old, supposed to be able to hold herself back from folly, in her opinion. So she was having a hard time seeing why she'd stopped at the Knight Club on her way back to the house, on an evening she had been planning on spending in more scholarly pursuits. Sure, they served a mean beef stew, and an even better witches' delight martini, but she hadn't really been looking for that when she left her desk earlier that evening. She'd ended up staying late, taking care of processing Matilda Bad Old Gets… erm, Baggleykets', paperwork. And scourgifying the entire office.

So, instead of being at home, curled up with journals and notes, Hermione Weasley was sitting in a secluded booth at the Knight Club, a heaping bowl of stew in front of her, a tall Guinness (she was glad the old KC hadn't completely shunned muggle offerings, especially on a night like this), and a trashy magazine in her hand. She would typically be too shy to go to a bar by herself, but she always passed it on her way home and for some reason, she just had to stop in.

She was just about to read a story on the latest loves of the Veela ambassador when an errant piece of potato escaped her spoon, landing smack in the middle of her magazine, laid flat on the table. Grimacing, she cast a quick cleaning spell on it, oblivious to her surroundings. For instance, she didn't see the ravishing redhead that passed by her booth, her hand carelessly brushing Hermione's sleeve. Nor did she see her former professor enter the club, intent on getting as drunk as he could, taking into account just how much sober up potion he had back-stocked. Instead, she read the article with a dogged determination until said redhead slipped into a corner and changed her form.

"The things I do for mere mortals," the goddess muttered under her breath. She ran her hand down her face, slightly flattening her nose, making her mouth a bit poutier. Her eyes grew a bit wider and she smiled as her hips broadened as if she'd borne children. All she had to do was make sure whatever she told her charges made it back to the unwitting true owner of the form she was borrowing. Her clothing changed from ethereal to modern and useful and she was ready.

The goddess wove a path to Hermione's booth, plastering a goofy smile on her face.

"Now, why on earth is a beautiful witch like you alone in a club when my dashing brother could be here with her?" the goddess turned Ginny Weasley Potter asked, laughing.

Hermione jumped and forced a smile. She stood and hugged 'Ginny',chuckling.

"Your 'dashing' brother had something else to attend to, and your niece and nephew are both in capable hands. I'm just out for a spot of stew and a good brew, along with a trashy read. Join me?" Hermione asked politely. She didn't really want to spend an evening discussing the finer points of raising young witches and wizards today with her sister-in-law, but Hermione had been raised to be polite.

'Ginny' shook her head and Hermione forced herself not to let out a sigh of relief. Hermione eyed her curiously and she created a story out of whole cloth.

"Oh, I'm just here to finalize the catering for Minerva's birthday celebrations," 'Ginny' blurted, mentally kicking herself. She'd picked a random name out of Hermione's head. The woman had been deciding on what subscription to renew for the older witch, so at least it was nearly her birthday. "I really wanted to do something special for someone who's done so much for all of us, especially with Dumbledore gone."

On cue, Hermione's eyes misted up and 'Ginny' smiled to herself. Occasionally, she forgot how sentimental mortals were over such anniversaries, even the long-lived ones. Hermione nodded slowly, dabbing her eyes with her napkin.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Hermione asked as if on cue. 'Ginny' shook her head and Hermione nodded. "Well, I know if there is, you'll tell me. How fortunate for Minerva, that you're doing this for her."

'Ginny' nodded and pretended to be mortified.

"Oh, Herms, you didn't know? I'm so sorry, I sent your invite via muggle post. It must not have arrived yet!" she feigned horror. "I sent yours separately from Ron's; he'll only take from an owl. Oh, dear."

Hermione only nodded, and 'Ginny' tried not to smirk. This would be so easy… she took Hermione's hands in her own and squeezed a bit, in apology. Hermione laughed and murmured something about some things never changing, and she knew Hermione was hooked. She murmured the appropriate good-byes and let herself fade into the crowd as she hunted her other prey.

It so happened that one Severus Snape was lingering over a firewhiskey at the counter, his eyes suitably dark and moody. Dropping the guise of Ginny, the goddess thought for a moment before choosing another guise, a male guise. It wouldn't do for him to think he was going to be with any other female.

"Ah, Severus. I did not expect a dour Potions Master to be at the Knight Club," 'Remus' said. The guise had been simple enough, and the goddess assumed Severus was contrary enough to go to a celebration just to spite the werewolf. Glittering black eyes drew up to meet shining brown ones.

"Who let you out of your cage, mutt?" Severus growled. He was far gone enough not to remember that is was not quite a full moon yet. He swigged back another swallow of the burning liquid and 'Remus' winced. "Or are you just … out for a bite, as it were?"

'Remus' let his lips pull back in a scant grimace, but kept the image in check, overall. She had no idea had often he actually let his temper flare, and she wasn't going to step wrong now. A growl escaped the grimace and Severus rolled his eyes eloquently.

"Oh, feh, Remus. I'm not going to pour silver on you," Severus said irritably. He looked from his glass to the werewolf. "And what are you doing here, anyway? Tonks let you out of bed? Or does she boot you the closer the moon gets to full?"

"Shut your mouth, Snivellus," 'Remus' growled. The goddess was quite proud of her work with the werewolf and the metamorphagus, whether Severus liked it or not. She schooled the expression and cleared her throat, loudly. "As it turns out, I'm on a mission, of sorts, for Tonks. There is a … celebration… planned, in honour of Minerva. I just need to make sure of your attendance."

After a few moments of silence, Severus spoke.

"It will be at the school?" a quick nod and he jerked his head in assent. It would work well to his plans. "Very well. I shall be in attendance."

'Remus' was turning to leave when Severus grabbed his shoulder.

"And let Tonks know. I'll be bringing a woman."

'Remus' let surprise show on his face, inwardly smirking. All to plan, all to plan… he nodded and Severus released the arm, turning back to his drink. The goddess held the guise until she was out the door, dropping it and disappearing, chuckling all the way.

Back in the club, Severus was contemplating who he could escort to the celebration in order to break Skeeter's rumor. The alcohol had finally started to get to him, and he rose heavily, snifter in hand, to examine the prospects of the room. He dismissed the ones he could tell were underage or nearly so, as well as the ones whose age was indeterminate. He was only so desperate, after all. He raised a hand to his temple, massaging lightly before sending out a few probing thoughts.

Not that one, she's pregnant, he dismissed one before moving on quickly. No, married; no, not interested in men… no, clingy…no, ma--. Un-happily married. But that mind's damned quick.

Severus was mercenary enough to probe a bit deeper. An unhappy witch, a smart witch, a bit young, but more than made up for with intelligence. She had a weakness for chocolate, a quick temper, and a well-hidden depth of dark desires. He followed the trail of thought, making a beeline for a nearly empty booth, folding himself onto the bench seat across from her, plastering his most wicked smile on his face, then dropping it disastrously.

"Granger?"


	3. The Serendipitous Folly

Another Man's Wife

Another Man's Wife

disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, though I really really wish I did.

As usual, the first reviewer will get the next chapter dedication.

This chapter is dedicated to GurloftheNight!

btw, Shawna … these gods all come from Celtic lore.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Chapter 3: The Serendipitous Folly

The last time Hermione had heard her maiden name spoken with such venom had been when she denied Rita Skeeter an invitation to her wedding. Scowling she looked up to find the owner of the silky voice gone awry.

"Snape," she forced out with as much venom. She dropped her spoon back in her dish and leaned back in the booth, folding her arms across her chest. "To what do I owe THIS displeasure?"

"Oh, the little Gryffindor has resorted to spitting my last name at me, whatever shall I do?" Severus hissed, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "Though I must say, I'm doubly disappointed in you. Not only have you STOOPED to calling me as your bumbling dunderheads of best friends do, you went off and MARRIED the more feeble-minded of the two."

"Ron is a decent husband and a good man," Hermione retorted. Inwardly, she cringed. She couldn't defend his intellect, not to the man who'd taught them for years. Ron was not a mental heavyweight; for a moment, Hermione berated herself for that thought. "And what would surprise you about that? Ron and I fancied each other for years. And from what I've read, 'fancy' is a word that you're well familiar with!"

Severus allowed his eyes to widen before narrowing them. He laid his hands flat on the table, gripping it instead of throttling her. Even SHE believed the damned gossip columns now.

"One would think that with an intellect like yours, you'd be able to dissemble rumour from truth," Severus said low in his throat. He smirked; he had an ace in his sleeve. "I only came over here because I sensed a woman in distress, unhappy, unfulfilled… dreaming of chocolate and dark pleasure. Instead I find a bookworm who makes do with an idiotic bumbler of a husband.

"I had been planning on asking said woman to accompany me to a ball. In order to dispel those rumours. Obviously, you've deluded yourself into thinking Weasley enough for you. Nothing for me here," Severus finished dismissively. He shrugged. "I'm sure I'll see him at the ball with you, though. Tell me, does he have you tie his dress shoes, or does he just slip them on?"

With that, Severus rose to leave. Hermione did strange things to his gut. He'd been right, all along, when he'd argued with Minerva. She could do great things, but she'd bee blinded by that damned Gryffindor sense of loyalty, of right and wrong. He remembered her certificates, in Potions, Charms, Defense… and then he remembered that she did NOTHING with them. It incensed him, but he fought the feeling down.

The smell of fresh cut grass hung in the air and Hermione opened her mouth without thinking.

"I think Ronald might have a meeting or game that night. I can meet you in the corridor, if he can't come," Hermione said quickly. She blinked and back-tracked. "Uh… he has his own invite, according to Ginny, but we'd have to meet there, anyway. So… uh… if you don't find a more suitable date by then… I'll be in the corridor outside the Great Hall."

Hermione nearly slapped her hand over her mouth, but she felt the need to do this… to make her life up to herself. For a tense moment, Severus stood stock still. A small smile quirked his mouth and he shook his head. Hermione sagged in her chair.

"No. Partial measures don't do. I'll give you three days to contact me. If you are going without Weasley, I will escort you. I will not be a dirty little secret, Miss Granger," Severus said softly. He reached down and took her hand, kissing the back of it gently, a far cry from his earlier outburst. Hermione shivered and he fought the urge to smirk at her.

"Th-three days, yes," Hermione said softly. She let her hand drop as Severus released it and left, a flourish of black robes revealing close-fitting black trousers and knee high leather boots. She shivered in her seat, shaking herself a bit. "Three days…"

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

AN: I know Severus and Hermione are a bit OOC, but please keep in mind, the gods are fudging with their minds in order to fix a few things. So… I see them as themselves, but OOC in that they are extreme versions of themselves.

And… sorry for the short chapter. Longer ones coming later.


	4. The First Day of Folly

Another Man's Wife

disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, though I really really wish I did.

As usual, the first reviewer will get the next chapter dedication.

This chapter is dedicated to

Chapter 4: The First Day of Folly

After Severus Snape had left Hermione at her table, she had slowly regained her senses. A wave of panic made her feel her stew rising up in the back of her throat. For a moment, she thought she would be sick but she managed to regain control of her body at the last moment, her throat burning and the barest of tears in her eyes.

A small voice in her head, the good voice, was rebuking her.

_Hermione, you're as good as cheating on that husband of yours. What has Ronald done to deserve that?_ the voice said sternly. Hermione rested her head in her hands, shaking lightly as the other voice, a voice she wasn't used to, spoke in her mind.

_It isn't cheating. You're being an escort for a man whose life you helped make miserable as a child. Look at it as making it up to him. It isn't as if you're going to fuck him,_ the voice said pragmatically. _Besides. You deserve to go to the ball with someone who can dance, for once. How many broken toes can one woman suffer in a lifetime?_

Hermione felt like a prisoner in her own head as the voices, the two sides of her personality, duked it out over what she would do. In the end, Severus and the ball won out. She finished her stew and packed her bag, an odd lightness in her chest. She left money for the stew and a generous tip on the table, going over things, speaking aloud to herself as she left.

"I'm not sleeping with him, I'm going to dance with him," she reasoned, leaving casually. "Ron doesn't care to dance, and he doesn't do it well. He probably has a game or meeting that night, and wouldn't be able to go anyway."

Hermione ignored the stares from others, used to being stared at from her earliest childhood. Her teeth, her hair, her ever-present armload of books – those had always drawn stares. As an adult, her union to a national Quidditch player and role in the War were common reasons people stared.

Secretly, though, Hermione knew why they were staring at her tonight. No matter what she told herself, how she reasoned…

She was going to a ball with Severus Snape, the most conflicted hero of the war, one of the most sought-after wizards, and most certainly – not her husband. With that thought hanging in her mind, Hermione apparated quickly home. She only had 3 days to get that out in the open.

It was later that night, closer to morning than night, that Hermione had her first chance to tell Ron. He came in, trying to be quiet so as not to wake her, but she had been a wife and mother long enough that no matter how deeply she slept, the presence of spouse or child roused her. She rolled from her side to her back, wiping her eyes with her hand.

"Ronald? What time is it?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep. He shook his head.

"Too late or too early, love, take your pick," he chuckled as he shucked his clothing, sliding in smoothly beside her, his hand coming to rest on her soft tummy. "But if you're up anyway…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and cast a quick, silent contraceptive charm. Ron's smile faltered and he removed his hand. She looked at him.

"What?" Hermione asked, irritated. He knew she didn't want any more children for the time being. She felt so groggy, he should have been happy she responded at all.

"C'mon, Mione. Harry and Ginny have so many, even the twins have a few. Could you at least be willing to go without the charm, if not take a potion to help move things along?" Ron asked plaintively. "I thought, just this once, for Merlin's sake."

Hermione jolted to complete consciousness. Her eyes narrowed.

"You thought what? That you could come to me when I'm dead asleep, thinking I'd forget or wouldn't bother with the contraceptive charm?" Hermione tried to keep her voice down, but she knew it was coming. "Ronald, that's despicable! I'm your wife, not some brood mare. This has to be the most dunderheaded thing you've done!"

Ron threw the covers back and pulled them up angrily. "I'm a dunderhead now? Well, not everyone can be a Snape, I guess."

With that, Hermione got out of bed and pulled her old robe on, tying it quickly and tightly around her middle. Ron glared at her in the darkness.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sleeping anywhere but in this room. I'm so angry with you right now," Hermione said, just barely keeping from slamming the door as she left. She stormed into the living room, snapping on the television for background noise while she raged in her own head. She knew Ron wanted a gaggle of children, but she'd never thought he'd stoop quite so low.

After a long while, the anger subsided, replaced with sadness and resentment. Sadness, that things had gotten so bad, resentment that she'd let them get so bad. For an instant, she resented the lost opportunities having he children had cost her, but she mentally slapped herself for resenting Rose and Hugo. The children weren't responsible for when they were born. That blame lay squarely on Hermione and Ron's shoulders.

"But more on Ron's than mine," Hermione said aloud. She could hear his snoring and her lip curled. She felt stupid for a moment, and even the resentment passed. Her shoulders sagged and she leaned back, lulled to a fitful sleep by the low sound of the television.

Dreams stalked Ron's sleep. He saw images from his own childhood, lost in a large brood of children, even more lost when he was alone. He was walking through the woods with his brothers and sister, then one by one they were trailing behind, or stumbling off into the woods, leaving him ever more alone. He started walking faster and faster, till he was sprinting.

"I know it, the twins, they planned this; they'll all be waiting for me, to spring some horrid trick on 'ickle Wonny'," he fumed as he huffed towards a clearing he saw in the distance. As he ran, the forest began to die away till all that was left was the gray and brown of death and decay.

Finally at the mouth of the clearing, Ron stopped, panting, leaning against a tree for support.

_Ronald…you're all alone. They left you all ALONE. Brothers and sister led you through the woods and now they're gone._

Ron paled and swallowed thickly, his eyes darting around.

"Wh-who's there? Show yourself, Deatheater!" he cried in the sudden darkness. Hadn't it been light at the beginning of his dream?

Laughter and his siblings' voices started to cut through the mournful silence, and Ron heaved a sigh of relief. His brothers and sister were always there; there was nothing quite like having the permanent friends and companions known as siblings.

_Exactly, Ronald. Your siblings were the light of your life before you knew…er…that you had a light of your life._

Ron frowned. His inner voice had faltered, like he was hearing a bad actor unprepared for an audition. He cleared his throat and palmed his wand, heading for the center of the clearing. A chair-like object rose from the floor a bit; as Ron got closer, he realized it was actually a throne worn of a single, thick, old dead oak. He reached his hand out and something shimmered through the air, causing him to pull back in alarm.

A hazy shape took a seat in the throne; he could make out a light-colored robe or gown of some sort, and long hair, probably curly, vaguely reddish in hue. What he ascertained was the face turned to focus on him, a smile on the dim lips.

_Ah, I see you survived this brief interlude without the cacophony of your siblings. Tell me, my red-haired one, how did that make you feel._

Ron started to say he'd enjoyed the brief quiet when a sudden pressure assaulted his chest cavity, like a fist around his heart.

_Painful, isn't it? Being so lonely, when the answer is so very clear. You grew up with such joys – joys named, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and blessed, beloved only sister, Ginny. You love all your siblings so much, feel such a kinship with your brothers, but Ginny – she was always the odd one out, the only girl-child?_

Ron nodded absently, completely caught up in the story-spell being woven around him. Suddenly, it made sense. Why else would Ginny have a crush on the Boy Who Lived, and who happened to be her big brother's best friend? She needed to belong to one of her siblings, and she was the only girl. There was a kinship among the boys that she could not create, even with Hermione, or any of their other girlfriends.

_Ah, that's RIGHT, my boy! Ginny suffered because she was the only one! Like you suffered in the beginning of this dream, afraid YOU would be the only one!_

Being alone was bad. Being alone was frightening. Being alone was…something to which Ronald could subject his own children. Children plural, yes, but, one boy and one girl. New pangs gripped his heart at the thought of Rose growing up and not having a boy and in turn a man to herself of the same caliber of Ron's own best friend, Harry. Rose wouldn't be safe, looking for kinship with her girlfriends by dating or loving one of their brothers.

_It's clear now, isn't it, Ronald?_ The shimmer outright asked Ron this question, and he nodded fiercely.

Hermione didn't understand, because Hermione had grown up alone till she had met Harry and Ron. And because Hermione couldn't understand, she was willing to doom Rose and Hugo to her damaged upbringing. Well, Ron could stop that.

The shimmer smiled and let Ron out of the trance just enough for him to start to leave, her smile turning to a smirk.

5555555555555555555555

"Well, that was easy enough," Medb laughed to herself, watching as Ron left the forest she'd helped him created in his dreams. He'd warred with feeling lost in a sea of children, as well as lonesome without the others his entire childhood. Medb knew, she knew about all wars.

But she also knew a thing or two about lust. And as Rhiannon was always warning her, lust oft-times led to love. Which was her entire plan.

And it was going perfectly.

Or so she thought.

55555555555555555555555555555

A/N:….so….kinda crappy chapter and a cliffhanger to boot. However! I have a reason for that. Bet if you can't guess what it is. I have to say, in Ron's defense, if you grow up with many siblings, you often go one of two ways –either you want a ton of children, or you want the opposite. I know many of us who've battled with that dilemma once we get to that broodmare stage of life ;)


	5. Wherein One's Folly Leads to Disaster

Another Man's Wife

disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter,0020 though I really really wish I did.

As usual, the first reviewer will get the next chapter dedication.

This chapter is dedicated to Flickerphile. Hopefully the next few chapters will help make last chapter's dream sequence less confusing.

Chapter 5: Wherein One's Folly Leads to Disaster

Hermione snored softly in the living room, barely audible over the low rumble of the television. She tossed in her sleep, her hands clenching as she moved.

As she slept, she dreamt. And as she dreamt, she didn't hear a thing.

_Hermione was sitting in a wicker swing, swaying in a gentle breeze that was playing with her curls. She heard children laughing and playing, and she sighed, a bit louder than she intended to._

"_Mum! Mummy! Ma!" voices seemed to screech and echo in the space and Hermione raise her hands, pressing her palms to her temples. _

_Every day everyday EVERYday EVERYDAY_

_The cacophony. The near-disasters. The scheduling in of her own children. Ron's children._

_A young girl ran up to the swing and flung herself on Hermione._

"_MUM!" Hermione cringed._

"_Y-yes, Millie," Hermione fought a grimace; she remembered hating the name and wondering where they'd gotten it: Ron's aunt Mildred; horrid woman._

"_Granna says you'd be better with red hair like me!" Millie screeched excitedly. "Then you'd be a REAL Weasely, and fit in with us!"_

_Hermione swallowed and shook her head. _

_Millie's face turned red and she started hollering, calling the attention of any who could hear._

"_Mum doesn't want to be a Weasely! Mum won't be a Weasely!" Millie shouted till Hermione heard what she could swear were the pitter-patterings of a baby elephant herd._

_Child after child with noxiously red hair appeared on the porch and behind it, popping out of windows in the house and one even jumped out from under the porch swing. _

"_Hermione, the Medi-Witch is here with yet more congratulations, my favorite prego!" Ron's voice boomed through an open door._

_Hermione opened her mouth to screa-_

Medb shrugged her shoulders and shuddered as she shed the guise of Ron. She saw Hermione pass out in the porch swing and made a face.

"That may have been…a bit much," Medb agreed with what she knew her sister would think. But Medb had never been one to do things halfway. Hermione needed to be away from Ron, and Medb needed someone to be with a warrior she'd watched over practically since his birth.

Medb tossed her hair and snorted.

Harsh or not, Medb would see the ends justified the means.

Hermione was panting and gasping when she woke from her scream. Something was over her mouth so she couldn't scream. Her blanket was nowhere to be found and her robe was being pushing up above her thighs. She struggled and whimpered, wondering where Ron was, how he could be sleeping through something like this.

She got her answer when her would-be molester lifted his weight off her enough for her to shift her position on the couch.

It was Ron. Panting and pawing at her lower body, but making a horrible job of it. He looked to be half-asleep, which to Hermione's way of thinking was a poor excuse for the randomness of his act.

Hermione thought hard. _Accio wand!_

Her wandless magic came through for her, her wand flying to her hand, which she'd managed to get free.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione hit Ron with the disarming spell to dislodge him, and she was satisfied when she heard the dull thud of his body colliding with the carpeted floor.

"Wh-what? What the bloody hell, Hermione! Stealing the blankets is one thing, but shoving me out of bed?" Ron's scowl was evident in his voice and Hermione fought her temper. He'd nearly molested her, and he was joking about stolen covers and bed space?

"We're not in the bed, I was on the couch because you're an ass who thinks I'm nothing more than a broodmare with no use but to breed with you," Hermione fumed. "And then I have a nightmare, and wake up to you on top of me trying to rut like a wild animal!"

"You were loving it, Hermione. Besides, Rose's nearly Hogwart's age and Hugo's starting his primaries at that Muggle school you demanded he go to. If we don't get back on the broom, they'll be married and giving us grandbabies and we'll never have enjoyed the whole cycle again!" Ron replied.

Hermione snorted. "Enjoy the whole cycle? You mean the bloating, the morning sickness, the hemorrhoids, the stretch marks, edema, and tearing of the birth canal? All for the middle of the night feedings, parent-teacher meetings, arguments, and being the bad guy?"

"Yeah, that!" Ron nodded sharply.

"How would you know, you were always at the quidditch fields!" Hermione screeched. She shut her eyes to regain her composure. They didn't live at an exclusively magically inhabited apartment complex and explaining quidditch was not something she was up to at the moment.

"I may not know every bloody thing about parenting, but I know a fair thing about having siblings and how that teaches you to fit in and be normal," Ron sneered.

Hermione froze. "Fit in? Be normal? You have no idea what you just did, do you Ron?"

"I damned do. I told you how its going to be in this family, and you're going to get on it," Ron said, more irrational than usual.

"You told me I'm neither normal nor able to fit in, and you're blaming my parents because they only had one child?" Hermione said softly, dangerously softly.

Ron smiled amicably and got up, sitting down next to her and trying to gather her into his arms. "No, love. It was their mistake, one we're not going to repeat."

"Heh. You're an idiot."

_POP!_

Back on her throne in Tir na Nog, Rhiannon shook her head.

Medb had done her job well, as usual.

And she'd made a hell of a mess, also, as usual.

a/n: this will start to make more sense as we go on. Perhaps Snape will make and appearance next chapter. I don't want him to feel left out. But he just hasn't spoken to me in a few chapters. Read, review, get a dedication


End file.
